Seam Hill
by HavishamWard
Summary: To get away from a dangerous past and to start a new life for his sister, Peeta Mellark starts a popular bakery in the small town of Seam Hill. His life soon becomes predictable and lonely. But when the world famous, not to mention beautiful Katniss Everdeen, visits Boston to work on her newest Oscar-worthy role, Peeta's world is turned inside out and upside down.
1. Prologue

Seam Hill is a neighborhood on the outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts. It's close enough to the city to make you feel you aren't in the middle of nowhere and far enough to avoid the hustle and bustle of the big city life. There is one main road that goes straight through town called Huntington Road. If you keep going, it'll take you right down to Beacon Hill. Keep going past that, and you'll be at a Red Sox game. Huntington Road is a cobblestone street lined with shops with a variety of things to please anyone's desires. And on Saturdays, the road is closed to drivers in order to fit hundreds of tents and kiosks for the weekly Huntington Market. Everyone looks forward to the Market because they will find anything they want; from fresh vegetables and fruit, pastries and food trucks competing for best meal, to handmade jewelry and vintage dresses. There's even an older couple who sells old records down on the corner. The variety of restaurants leave very little to be desired with Chinese, Italian, Mediterranean and even Indian foods, among others. Some tourists come here just to hear us 'Seam Hillans' talk, with our heavy Boston accents and superstitious histories, or to see where Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner live. Tom Brady can even walk down the Market with his family without being bothered.

When people visit Boston, Huntington Market is one of the most popular best kept secrets. It's one of the oldest neighborhoods near the city, with period red brick buildings and wrought iron fences covered in vines. The people who work on Huntington Road either live in the apartments above their shops or walk several blocks to get to work. We are hard-working, stubborn and proud people here. Every street corner has an American flag and every window holds one of Mrs. Pratchett's geranium flower boxes. It's a place where people help each other out and you can still ask your neighbor to borrow a cup of sugar.

This is home to me, but it's a hell of a lot different from where I grew up.

I grew up 'next door' in Charlestown, where I grew up a little rough around the edges in the sketchy areas that most people avoided. Ma left us when I was sixteen. I didn't really care at the time, but it broke Pop's and Prim's heart. Dad was too soft and Prim was only ten at the time. After that, I was in deep with a few other guys from the neighborhood. Charlestown is home to some of the most notorious Irish gangs in the world and I spent a little too much time with my cousins, Rye and Bobbi Moran, who were just too thirsty for trouble. It wasn't until I watched Rye get popped by a drive by that I decided I was too close for comfort. He died right in front of me. I did some time for being there when it happened. And that's when Pop had a heart attack. I had just turned eighteen and Primrose was only twelve.

Pop left me everything; the house, the bakery and about $30,000 that no one ever knew he was hiding in the floorboards of our old townhouse. My biggest responsibility became my sister. I knew I had to make things right because I had her to take care of.

But of course, when you get tied up with all the wrong people, especially the Morans, you can't just walk away when you want. It took me a while, but eventually I was able to cut ties. One by one, they made stupid decisions and ended up with jail time, some in federal prison with life sentences. I was determined to keep my nose clean for my sister and the rest of the boys knew that. Some even respected me for it. Some thought I ratted them out.

So we left Charlestown and moved to Seam Hill. Not far enough away to leave it all behind, but far enough to start fresh.

I sold the house and the bakery, just to buy a rundown store front on Huntington Road with a walk up two bedroom apartment above it. I used a little of that money Pop left to fix it up; put in a new kitchen with top of the line appliances, a few bistro tables and chairs, fresh paint and a nice glass case in the front. We called it Mellark's Bakery and painted the sign together. I got Prim into school at Seam Hill and hired a few people to work at the bakery so I could go watch her basketball games.

That was ten years ago.

To say we've been successful would be a major understatement. Turns out, Huntington Road really needed a bakery and there isn't a slow day of the week. At first, we only made bread and pastry items; donuts, Danishes and things like that. But eventually and just to get Jo Mason to stop bugging me, we added soup, sandwiches and rollers to the menu, along with coffees and soft drinks. Thanks to Jo, we have a wider range of customers throughout the day.

My days have become mindless routine now. With Prim around, I had something going on all the time. Of course, I have the Odairs, who live a few blocks down. They own the Italian place across the street, the busiest place on Huntington Road. Finn is from Italy and studied under some famous Italian chef that was notorious for throwing plates when they weren't done exactly how he wanted them. Annie, his wife, was a nurse. A horrible car accident left her paralyzed from the waist down.

Then there's Jo. I don't remember ever really hiring her. She just kept showing up and told me I wasn't doing this or that the right way. She lives down the road above the book shop. I've never asked but I think she had a bad past and I have never seen her with a guy before. Once, Prim asked her if she was a lesbian. Jo never answered, but I've never seen her laugh so hard. Jo was also someone who was there to help me out when Prim was going through… changes. I definitely wouldn't have been able to make it through that without her around for help.

Prim calls almost daily, just to check on me, as if she's the one who worries about me. She lives almost an hour north and just got accepted into Harvard's Medical School a few weeks ago. I miss her just as much as I can say how proud I am. She graduated top of her class from high school and from college last May. When she told me she was applying to med schools, I honestly thought I would cry… or that my heart would explode from being too proud of her. Being six years older than Prim, I never really paid much attention to her when we were kids. But suddenly she became my first priority.

So lately, it's been me on my own. Of course, there are nights when I also fill the void with different girls from the bar, if only for a night. The next morning, however, the void returns, even if the girl wants to stick around. I lay awake most nights thinking about my past and wondering if it'll ever come back to haunt me. Until it does, I'll take it day by day.

So this is my life in Seam Hill. You might think it didn't start out that great, but I wouldn't trade it for the world now.


	2. Chapter 1

It's Saturday, Huntington Market Day. I could hear people setting up carts and kiosks as early as four in the morning. We have the same vendors every week and we've all come to know each other by name, some becoming good friends of mine. I greet several different people as I set up our high top tables out front.

Magda, or Mags everyone calls her, sells thousands of pieces of handmade jewelry each week. They say she survived a nasty bout of throat cancer a few years ago, but has never been able to speak since. She carries an old slate tied around her neck and a piece of chalk in her pocket to communicate with others. She's an interesting old lady and is always kind, dressed in the same patched dress every week and a mismatched apron over it. She wears her jewelry proudly and her wild grey hair is always piled high on her head and held together by chop sticks. Prim has always been fond of her and would always take her a veggie roller for lunch, something I promised to continue doing after Prim left for school. When I take it to her with a glass of water, she always gives me the same gentle pat on the cheek with a loving smile. She's one of the few who didn't refer to me as "Southie" when we moved into the loft above the bakery.

There's a brother and sister who sell herbal medications and alternative medicines at their booth. I've never heard their names and I don't ask. I don't think anyone has. They are nice enough, just a little… different. They always seem to be high on something, but I know they don't mean any harm. Keeping Prim away from them was always a challenge. She was very interested in their herbal lotions, tonics and healing remedies. They seem to know not to try selling her anything though, by the looks I would give them. They come in for lunch every day too.

Then there's Beetee, who sells all kinds of lighting. He seems to make his products out of anything he can pull out of a storage shed, or even a trash can. His most popular item is a lamp that looks like a tree. The leaves are made if different shades of green stained glass and some even have the fall colors in them. He also makes lamps from mason jars, which I bought for the bakery and also a few for our apartment. He's a nervous guy, a little awkward, but as nice as they come. He drinks most of our coffee, but I really can't find it in myself to charge him a dime.

Saturdays call for all hands on deck at the bakery, but today we're shorthanded. Jo had a wedding to go to out of state and she won't return until Tuesday and Pollux's wife just had another baby so he's out for another week.

Darius, Clove, Thresh and I are running things today. Darius does alright; he's just another different sort of guy. He rarely shows up on time, always forgets ingredients and eats more on the job than he should. He can clean well though so he is usually in the back cleaning up. Clove runs the cash register and takes Jo's place for the day, making all the coffee orders and soft drinks. Thresh runs the grill and makes all the soups and sandwiches with fresh ingredients that I get delivered from the meat market up town every morning. Pollux normally does our overnight baking. I've never met a more talented baker, even better than my Pop. Pollux mixes flavors perfectly and always comes up with a different bread of the day. There's always a wide variety of bagels, donuts, Danishes and muffins when he bakes and he makes everything look easy. Jo is great at making all different kinds of coffees and cappuccinos and does all our prep work. The things she can do with a knife are almost frightening.

The bell above the door signals our first customer of the day. I look up to see Finnick Odair, strutting his way inside in all his glory. He's always got a grin this early in the morning, even after staying up late until his restaurant closes.

"Peeta! Morning!" He greets me with his Italian accent.

"Morning, Finn."

Finn is one of those perfect guys. Despite being a married man and madly in love with his wife, he turns all the girls heads when he walks into the bakery and whenever we hit the town for beers.

My employees greet Finn and Clove hurries to get his take away bag ready for him, blushing like crazy. He gets the same thing every morning. Asiago cheese bagel with sundried tomato cream cheese for Annie and cinnamon crunch bagel with hazelnut spread for himself.

"You hear the news?" He asks me then.

Finnick is always the first to know everything in this town.

"The new Clint Eastwood movie is being filmed down by the Harbor. All the stars flew in last night, staying at the Ritz, I think," he says, watching me write the specials on the chalkboard, "They'll be filming right up town. Wouldn't it be cool to see Clint Eastwood?"

Being foreign, Finn has a small obsession with American movies. He grew up watching them and when he first came to Seam Hill, everything reminded him of the movies. It was almost embarrassing just to walk into a bar with him.

"Finn," I begin, shaking my head, "Mark Walberg won't even come to your restaurant anymore. After _Transformers_, you freaked out a bit…"

He shrugs, "the Affleck's love my place," he defends himself, "win some, lose some, yes?"

That's very true. Odairs Italian was once mentioned in one of Ben's interviews and Jennifer Garner sends them a Christmas card every year.

Of course, I've heard Clint Eastwood's favorite directing place is Boston, but I never have really given it much thought. Back in 2003, they filmed _Mystic River _in Charlestown. I walked right by Sean Penn and Kevin Bacon and didn't even realize it until I was a block over.

The way I see it, people are people, no matter what their job is. I know I wouldn't like a ton of people coming up to me and screaming and yelling and taking my picture, so I don't really get into it like other people do. Besides, the streets are even crazier when these famous people are being chased around town by fans and paparazzi. The only good thing that comes from this is the attention they bring to Seam Hill. There are plenty of people around to make a living when you're a store owner, but there's always extra money coming in when there's that many more people in town.

But as the busy day goes on, I forget all about that news Finn brought in that morning.

It isn't until a week later that I see her.

I'm sitting out front at lunch time, talking to Prim on the phone when I see her. She is walking from kiosk to kiosk, checking out everything the Market has to offer. She talks to people, who really don't seem to recognize her at all, which also seems to be the way she likes it. She spends quite a while at Beetee's lighting booth, admiring the tree lamps. I can tell she compliments Beetee because even with his dark skin, he blushes even more than usual. She's already made the most of her trip because she's carrying a few shopping bags.

She's dressed in black skinny jeans, grey tee shirt and red converse. Her hair is a dark auburn and pulled into a loose braid, but her skin is a contrasting olive color. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of Ray-Bans. She's smaller in person… or maybe I've only seen her in fancy ball gowns and stilettos, but she might be only chest high to me. She's got the curves, but she's thin and her legs are long. She doesn't look quite as statuesque as she does on TV, in fact she looks completely normal… but still stunning somehow. I briefly wonder if anyone else can see the ray of light that seems to follow her. Or maybe it's the fact that her demeanor almost screams tourist. She doesn't smile until she's at Mags' stand, looking through a basket of handmade lace bracelets. She has a beautiful smile.

"Peeta, are you there? Peeta? Did you hang up?"

"What? No, Prim, I'm here…" I say, shaking my thoughts away, but still watching her.

"I was saying that I have a date tonight…" Prim says, and this gets my attention.

"A date?" I say, finally looking away from Mags' beautiful customer, "With who? I thought we had a deal about me meeting them before you went out with them."

She actually laughs at me. I hate when she does that.

"Oh, come on," she says, "I haven't done that in years. I'm twenty-two years old."

I scowl even though she can't see me.

"He's taking me to the bodies' exhibit…" she goes on.

"You've seen that a hundred times," I interrupt.

"I know, but it's really cool."

I decide then that he's taking her somewhere she really likes and that it's also very public, which is a plus.

"Make sure you carry that pepper spray I got you," I tell her for like the millionth time in her life.

"Yeah, yeah…" I can hear her eyes roll, "Love you!"

She hangs up before I can respond, which only irritates me more.

As I put my phone in my pocket, I'm reminded of what distracted me in the first place when she's suddenly walking towards the shop… my shop. I am closer to the door than she is so I open it for her to go in ahead of me. She sees me and gives me a slight smile before lifting her sunglasses and placing them at the top of her head. Her eyes stop me dead in my tracks and I can't breathe all of a sudden. Of course, I've seen them in the movies, but in person… they're the color of shiny steal. They make me feel cold and hot at the same time.

I go in behind her and try to look casual as I move back behind the counter and wash my hands. When I'm done, I stay back and pretend to look busy, but really I'm watching her as she waits in line. She reads the board carefully, trying to decide what to order. I watch her full lips move just slightly as she goes through the list. She bites her lip before making her decision and then she's next in line.

"I got this, Clove," I say, making my way in front of the cash register.

Clove looks slightly confused.

"Go ahead and take a break," I prompt her.

She shrugs and heads towards the back as I turn back to face my customer.

I give her a smile, trying my best to stay casual, "What can I get for you?"

She returns my smile, but it's timid, not the confident smile I see in the movies. And when she speaks, I swear she's got me. She's British.

"I'll take the veggie wrap, please," she says, "Could I have a little extra hummus, on a tomato basil tortilla?"

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, "Anything else?"

"Yes," she thinks for a moment, "I would like a box of your pastries to go… Maybe like fifteen things or so… so everyone can have a bit."

I nod, getting a pastry box ready.

"What do I owe?" she asks me then, reaching into her bag.

I clear my throat, "Nothing, it's on the house."

She looks disappointed and embarrassed, her cheeks turning slightly pink as she puts a black credit card back into her bag. But she pulls out a fifty dollar bill. She doesn't look away from me as I watch her toss it into our glass tip jar. I may have just pissed her off, judging by the look she gives me.

"Anything in particular from the case?" I ask her next, grabbing the tongs and holding onto the box, "We've got just about everything, as you can see. These are filled with raspberry, those are the cream filled long johns, and there's always a caramel long john topped with bacon."

She looks up at me, "Is that good?"

I shrug, "You'd be surprised… I think it takes the older generations back to their childhood. My Pop used to eat them because his Pop did when he was kid and so on…"

She smiles then, almost a cheeky smile, "Two of those, please. You pick the rest, but those big ones are my favorite… filled with apple, right?"

I laugh and nod, "I will throw in an extra one for you."

I pick about twenty items before tying the box shut and handing it over to her. She thanks me again, and we stare at each other a moment. When her eyebrows rise just slightly, I mentally kick myself.

"Oh, right, your wrap… that'll be just a minute. I'm sorry, I almost forgot."

"No problem, I'll just wait over here."

I busy myself with fixing her wrap; extra hummus just like she asked and I can feel my face heating up. She has the decency to look around the store while I work. But I look up when another customer makes their way up to talk to her.

"Holy shit! I know who you are!" the customer says with a loud squeal, "You're Katniss Everdeen! I can't believe it's really you! You were in that movie… what was it? _Cold Mountain_! I cried so hard when I saw it! And you even won the Oscar for it! Tell me, what's Jude Law like in real life? Does he really talk like that?"

Katniss is kind and gracious enough to smile, although she looks a little terrified, "Jude is very nice and great to work with…"

"Can I get a picture with you? And can I have your autograph? And are you really dating Zac Efron? Is he really that hot in real life… he just has to be."

"Um…" she falters, not really sure what question to answer first, "I've never actually met Zac… we only did voiceovers for an animated film and I actually couldn't make it to the premier because I was… um… busy, I guess."

The fan didn't even listen to her response, "This is just too cool… can I get a picture?"

They have their phone out before Katniss can answer. And before that fan leaves her alone, there's more in line to meet her. What surprises me is that she gives each one of them a moment of her time, even though it's clearly her day off. By the time she's done snapping pictures and writing autographs, her cheeks are red and I can tell she's looking for the nearest exit. She looks around nervously, like someone trying to escape. But at this point, the people who've already met her have gone and told everyone on Huntington Road that Katniss Everdeen is in Mellark's Bakery. I quickly finish bagging her wrap up and make my way over to her.

"Come on, this way," I tell her, guiding her out the back of the bakery.

When I touch her shoulder, I can feel her shaking.

"Clove," I shout to the back, "Watch the register."

I momentarily hear Clove's response, and when I look at her, she's got her mouth hanging open. She watches me leave.

"Thresh, help Clove, please…"

I hear his response while I lead Katniss through the back door and out into the alley behind the bakery. She's breathing heavily by that time.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, feeling sorry for her.

"I am, yes…" she says breathlessly, "Thanks for getting me out of there."

I watch as she pulls out her cell phone. She presses one button, holds it to her ear and waits for someone to pick up.

"Hey, it's me," she tells whoever she just called, "Yeah, can you send a car? I'm fine; I just thought I could go through without getting noticed… I know… Haymitch, I'm fine… I'm sorry," she holds the phone away from herself, stops pacing and looks at me, "Where am I?"

"Gahls' Alley, north side of Huntington Road," I tell her.

She repeats what I said into the phone twice before hanging up and we're both quiet for a moment while she goes back to pacing.

"I'm Peeta… Mellark," I say eventually.

She stops and gives me another timid smile, "Katniss Everdeen," she shakes my hand, "This is your bakery, then?"

I nod, "Started it when I was eighteen."

She seems impressed, "I came by the other night on a jog, and I could smell the bread… I wanted to check it out, but… as you can see."

"I'm glad you did."

We stare at each other then, for only a moment. The attraction we both feel towards each other is clear in this moment. I feel it when she looks at me and I know it's true when she comes at me, fast. My back hits the wall behind me and she's kissing me, hard. I kiss her back and for a moment we're a mess of lips, tongues and breath. She tastes of cinnamon and smells of apples. Her hands are stuck tightly to my sides as though she has no control to let go. My hands frame her face, holding her to me because I'm not sure I'll ever see her again if I let go.

But all too soon, bright lights of a black suburban appear down the alley and she pushes off me, breathing heavily.

The suburban stops and a man jumps out of the passenger's seat. He's medium height, but obviously strong, in a black tee shirt and black pants. He has an earpiece in his ear as well as Ray Ban shades over his eyes. The only unkempt thing about him is his medium length sandy blond hair and his unshaven beard. He glares at me, but he looks like he's been paid enough money to keep his mouth shut.

"Haymitch…" Katniss says relief in her voice, "I'll be right there. Just wait, okay?"

The man, Haymitch, nods once before returning to the car. Katniss looks at me.

"Thanks again, Peeta," she says, smiling at me, "And I mean, for everything…"

And she's not only talking about the pastries and the veggie wrap, or the fact that I helped her get out of the bakery before any more people showed up… she's talking about that kiss too.


	3. Chapter 2

The line on the other end rings four times. With each agonizingly slow pause I hold my breath while I wait to say the words I've been preparing in my head for almost a week now.

_Hi, it's Katniss. I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. Or a movie. Or both? No wait. Hi, it's Katniss, the girl from last week. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior… no, I'm not sorry. It's Katniss, the girl who threw herself at you last weekend. Oh God no. Hello, this is Katniss Everdeen. No, no last name. Hey! It's Katniss, fancy some coffee?…_

"Mellark's Bakery," a woman's voice says loudly, and I almost jump.

There's a hum of machines and indistinct chatter in the background.

"Mellark's, can I help you?" she says one more time, clearly annoyed.

And I freeze while my heart pounds in my ribcage. I hang up the phone. Biting my lip, I slap myself on the forehead for being so cowardly.

_What an idiot._

I'm zero for three now on calling this man. This man who renders me absolutely speechless.

Six days is all it's been since I saw him and looking back now, I'm not even really sure what it was that I was first attracted to. It was more like it hit me all at once. His rough around the edges voice echoes in my head, that New England accent distinctly his. He was obviously fit; tall and built. I was certain there would be muscles under that gray shirt he had on. I remember the veins in his arms well and also had a glimpse of a few tattoos on his arms. He wore his blue jeans and boots well and that apron hung just right around his hips. His eyes were the brightest blue I've ever seen. His skin was fair and he had a dusting of light freckles across his nose. While his face was cleanly shaven, his hair was longer, thick and curved around his ears, but looked as though he had spent half his life running his hand back over his head to keep it from getting into his eyes. There was one strand that wouldn't stay back even if his life depended on it. I can't count how many times I've imagined running my hand through his hair myself.

I have worked closely with the likes of Chris Hemsworth, Gale Hawthorne and even Leonardo DiCaprio. I've done pretty explicit scenes with Robert Pattinson and Garrett Hedlund. They have all been on lists for the sexiest men alive but none of them had anything on Peeta Mellark.

Thankfully, work has kept me busy. I'm in hair and make-up by five in the morning and on the set by seven. I've worked with Clint Eastwood twice before and his hours of filming have always been demanding and long. I haven't been back to my hotel room before nine at night since I've been in town. Between filming and reading scripts for other film opportunities, my free time is limited. This week, I am thankful for it because it gives me a little less time to think about the humiliation I feel at kissing a complete stranger. The only thing it isn't keeping me from, however, is the desire to do it again.

Now, on Friday evening, I sit in my immaculate hotel room at The Ritz Carlton in downtown Boston alone, dialing the same phone number over and over again only to hang up when someone answers.

I've never been this girl. Boys were never the only thing on my mind, even as a teenager back home in London. Even when mum sent me to that boarding school where the girls were on one side of the lake and boys on the other. The other girls in my dormitory were scatter brained and hell-bent on sneaking out so the Headmistress wouldn't know, only to meet one of the preppy boys down by the bridge. They would talk about nothing else for days afterwards.

It wasn't until I left boarding school, after my mother died that I met new people. Without living in my mother's shadow, I was able to thrive and found a confidence I never had otherwise. I enrolled in theater classes at the Royal Theatre of Art and Music and played Ophelia in _Hamlet_. That's when Plutarch Heavensbee first saw me and within a year, I was already nominated for my first Academy Award. Ever since, the opportunities have been endless.

Some people call me the girl on fire. If only they really knew me. The girl on fire would call Peeta Mellark.

I bite my lip while I think it over… _the girl on fire. Be her. Be the girl on fire._

Staring at my iPhone, I decided to dial again. This time it rings three times before the same female answers.

"Mellark's Bakery," she says.

And I pause again.

"Alright, whoever this is," her fake polite voice, as well as her patience, is gone, "Fuck off. Quit calling if you're not going to say—

"Hi, um, hello," I interrupt, squeezing my eyes shut at the embarrassment, "I'm calling for Peeta."

"Oh," she says almost knowingly, "he's not in at the moment."

Part of me is thankful for that.

"Can I tell him you called?" she asks next.

"Um, yes," I decide, "My name is Katniss and he can call me at the Ritz, but I'll be under a different name…"

There's another pause.

"And what name is that?"

I pause, almost too embarrassed to say, "Indiana Jones."

She has the decency not to laugh out loud, but I can tell she's holding it back.

"Okayyyy," she says slowly, "Indiana, I will let him know you called."

I cringe, "Thanks."

I hang up, toss my phone into the chair and collapse onto the bed before grabbing a pillow and holding it over my face.

_What an idiot._

KPKPKPKPK

"What do you mean 'you don't remember'?" I ask Jo, for like the fourth time now.

We're setting up shop Saturday morning for Market Day. She chops away at onions and peppers, her knife moving fast in her hand. I really should know better than to have this conversation right now.

"I don't know," she says, waving the knife dismissively, "you know how lousy I am with movies and names and all that bullshit."

"Jo, come on," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

I've never wanted to hear a name so badly.

"Winnie the Pooh? Batman? Harry Potter?" I suggest, trying to jog her memory, "Princess Leia?"

She huffs, "Christ, Peeta, what the hell is the big deal? If she wants another box of pastries so badly, she'll call back."

"Maybe she didn't want pastries," I mumble under my breath as I walk away.

"What? You mean, she's calling for you?" she yells after me, hooting with laughter.

I don't answer, but keep walking to the back office. I pull my phone out of my pocket and quickly google The Ritz Carlton's phone number and dial. The person who answers sounds as hoity toity as the hotel name itself.

"Thank you for calling the Ritz Carlton," he says, "the most legendary hotel luxury chain since the early 1990s. How may I be available to you today?"

I have to keep myself from laughing out loud at his greeting, "Hi, um, I'm actually calling—well—I'm looking for Katniss Everdeen," I say, cringing, "But she left a different name with my friend, but of course, she can't remember the name I should ask for… Can you help me out here?"

"No, sir, I'm sorry."

Of course he can't.

"Okay, what about Cinderella? Barbie?"

"No, sir, there's no one here by that name."

"Right."

Silence.

"I'm not just some creeper," I go on desperately, "I met her last week and she tried to get ahold of me and I would really like to return her call… What about Daisy Duck?"

"I'm sorry sir."

I role my eyes, "Fine. What about Mary Fucking Poppins!"

Then I hear Jo running through the swinging door into the kitchens, shouting at the top of her lungs.

"Hold on a moment, will you?" I tell him.

"Of course sir."

"It's Indiana Jones!" Jo yells. "Indiana Jones!"

She comes to a halt at the doorway of my office, looking excited.

I put the phone back to my ear, "Indiana Jones?"

"I do believe she's back early from her run, sir," he says, and I can almost hear him smile, "I'll put you right through to her room."

_Oh shit, _I think to myself, standing up straight and clearing my throat.

Immediately, my mind goes blank and I'm desperately searching my mind for all of the things I've wanted to say to her. I've been thinking about our next conversation for six days… not even really knowing if we would have a next conversation.

Johanna stays in the doorway, watching me, waiting to hear how this conversation goes. Or to make fun of me, I'm not sure.

_Hey, it's me, Peeta, from Mellark's Bakery in Seam Hill. No wait. Hey, it's Peeta. Hey, Hello… Hi._

"Hello?" her voice hits me like a cold bucket of water to the face. I turn away from Jo.

"Hey, um hi," I say, mentally slapping myself, "it's, um, Peeta Mellark."

"H-hi!" she says, almost too loudly. She's shocked to hear from me.

"Hey," I say again, smiling like an idiot now, "how are you?"

"I'm alright, and yourself?"

"Great."

There's an awkward silence.

"I-I heard you called the bakery…" I say quickly, "I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, but Jo—my friend—she forgot the name you went by."

I turn and give Jo an annoyed look, but she just rolls her eyes at me.

"Oh, that's okay," she says, and I think she's smiling too, "it's a security thing and we're running out of ideas. Last week I was Dr. Meredith Grey."

The nice thing about this conversation is that I can tell she's nervous too.

"Indiana Jones is so much cooler."

She laughs and I smile. I have to cover my phone because Jo snorts loudly.

"Busy tonight?" I ask hopefully.

"Yeah," she says, but I can feel her disappointment. I'm disappointed too.

Another awkward silence.

"I'm, um, free tomorrow night," she says hopefully.

"Tomorrow's great," I say, but Jo waves her arms at me to get my attention again.

"Prim's birthday party," she mouths at me.

"Oh shit," I say quickly, "I'm sorry, tomorrow night—it's my little sister's birthday party. We have a dinner party planned."

"Oh that's okay."

"No, I'm sorry," I say, feeling like an ass now, "I can probably get out of it."

"No! You can't do that," she insists, "I mean, if it's alright with you… I'll be your date."

I smile like an idiot and Jo snorts again, "You'll come with me to my little sister's birthday party?"

She pauses, "well, I mean, if you wanted me to. If not, I understand. It's probably a kid-friendly family thing—"

"No," I tell her, laughing, "By little sister, I mean that she's younger than me. She's actually turning twenty-three. And it's just a group of friends."

I can practically hear her smile, "It sounds lovely."

Jo is motioning for me to get on with it, "Ask her to come!" she mouths.

"You'll come with me?" I ask, running a hand nervously back through my hair.

"I'd love to."

We make arrangements for Katniss to come to Seam Hill and meet me at the bakery before walking down to Odair's for dinner.

"See you tomorrow at seven, then," I say, reluctant to get off the phone with her.

"Great, until tomorrow. Bye."

I don't hang up until I hear her end the call. I finally turn to face Jo, who is looking at me and smiling, her eyebrows wiggling.

"Stop it, Jo," I say, but even I know I have a smile plastered on my face.

"You have a date with Katniss Everdeen!" she says.

I roll my eyes, "relax."

"Relax? This is a huge deal, Peeta," she says, "you haven't been on a date since what's-her-face."

"Glimmer."

We both grimace before she leaves my office to get back to chopping onions.

Now that I'm alone, I have just a moment to really think about the situation. This unreal situation.

I've seen her films. Of course I've seen her films. Prim loves all of those romantic comedies she's been in. I secretly hated the guys who kissed her in those films. I've seen her on billboards and on the sides of buses. She's on the cover of several magazines down on the corner where I pick up the daily paper. She's in the tabloids almost every week. Everyone wonders who she's dating now. I've even seen stories so farfetched to talk about her mother's illness.

But for some unfathomable reason… I have the chance to get to know the real Katniss Everdeen.


End file.
